


Seventh Waves

by dennydearest



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dennydearest/pseuds/dennydearest
Summary: A piratey story I worked on a while backVery, VERY explicit violence, including rape of a minor in the prologue





	Seventh Waves

Somewhere in the mid Atlantic: 1707  
The sea is a wild thing. Never predictable nor tamed, it is a beast of pure power. Massive and terrible yet calm and comforting. A strange, wild, untamed thing is the sea. Upon a night as inky black as a brewing storm - for as it was, a storm was well brewing and prepared to stake the life of a crew to the sea’s maddened dance. The waxing moon hidden by angry anvil clouds, stars barely breaking through that midnight’s darkness. Birds lay still in their nests, guarding their young ones and fragile eggs from the onslaught of torrential wind and rain. Across the mane, a small schooner bucked upon the crazed waves, taking water aboard and over her hull. Such began the horror of the fated ship Orpheus.  
Aboard the small craft, the decks teemed with life as frantic sailors tugged the rigging, some losing their footing on the sea-slick deck and finding themselves washed overboard. The Orpheus was a lonely, flickering beacon of light, slowing becoming snuffed and overtaken by the waves. Her mast creaked with the strain, lightning illuminating the frightful sight.   
The captain, a young man in his middle twenties, clung to the tiller, mopping sweat and rainwater from his pale eyes. At the sight of his crew disappearing, he called over the maelstrom. “All hands below!” he grimaced as the wood of them tiller swelled in his hands, driving splinters into his palm. “Make fair an’ certain that my wee Faie is safe an’ warm. Her mam’d ne’er forgive me if I lost her. “  
“Aye, kapetánios,” the speaker was a portly old Greek man, by the name of Spiridon Argyris, who had served on the Orpheus under the eye of Irving Murdoch since the young captain had lost his dear wife, Caoimhe. He was a constant companion; caring for his small daughter, Clarette, though she preferred to be called Faie. “What about you?”  
“I’ll be alright,” Irving replied, eyes set on the sea before him. “Strap me t’the tiller, would ye, mate? Don’t want tae go fallin’ out when my daughter’s aboard.”   
Spiridon nodded, binding his captain to the ship’s wheel. “Fate be with you, o fìlos mou.”  
He retreated below decks, taking a final glance at the captain, an odd light in his dark eyes. Within the storeroom, little Faie lay behind sacks of sugar and grain that was the doomed ship’s cargo. In her trembling hand, she clutched tight a doll, made entirely of stuffed rags and woolen yarn. Long, dirty red strands formed its hair and a pair of mismatched blue buttons served as fraily sewn eyes. The little girl held the ragdoll to her chest, crying out as another thunderous wave shook the ship. Her sodden clothes clung to her frame, damp chestnut hair plastered to her scalp. She grasped a burlap feed sack, knuckles whitening as she whispered helpless prayers to anyone could hear.   
“Dear God...Helen, Jesus, Mary, Thor, anyone!” her voice shook with fear as the Orpheus took yet another splintering blow. “Help...stop the storm, please...”  
“Clarette!”  
Her head shot up at the sound of Spiridon’s voice, her bright amber eyes peering up over the sacks of sugar cane at the stocky man framed in the doorway. “S-Spiro?”  
“Aye, neráida,” his rough hands closed over her shoulders as he pulled her upright, leaving small bruises upon her skin. “You’re freezing near to death...” he pressed her quivering body to his oversized stomach and let his fingers dance across her neck. “What would your Papa say?”  
She sobbed into his stomach, seeking the warmth that radiated from him. “Why’s the thunder so mean? It’s so loud...woke me up...” her voice sank to a piteous whimper. “Where’s Papa?”  
Murmuring soothingly into her ear, Spiridon relished the feeling of her pliant body against him and her soft skin and hair against his cheek. “Hush now, neráida, I’m here for you. Your Papa told me to watch you while he’s safe on the tiller.”  
He lead her into the ship’s barracks, where the other crew members had lit a fire which they constantly fed with barrel staves in hopes of keeping it alive. Those not at the hearth sat draped about, most stripped bare of their damp clothes, left only covered by their smalls and blankets. A small huddle of the younger sailors sat round a stool, trying their hands at a game of chance. With them was a small boy, only a few years older than Faie. He had rich, full locks of bronze coloured hair and strikingly light brown eyes. Spiridon flopped Faie beside him indifferently and went to warm himself by the blaze.  
“Hello, Elias,” Faie said softly, turning her bright eyes upon the boy  
He nodded a swift reply. “I see my uncle found you.”  
She bobbed her head, dark, soaked curls slapping her chilled skin. “I was hidin’...ye know...from th’storm.”  
“You cannot hide from the weather!” Elias scoffed, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Honestly, Faie, your imagination gets worse by the day.”  
Her face downcast, Faie gnawed her lip, an ashamed flush painting her freckled cheeks. “I was prayin’ t’yore gods even...” she moved from chewing her lip to biting the tips of her fingers. “Spiro says that Papa’s on the tiller, tryin’ t’steer us out o’ this mess.”   
He smacked her hand away from her mouth. “How many times do we have to tell you not to bite your nails? You’ll eat yourself up completely one day.”  
“If ye say so,” she wrinkled her nose impishly at him, simply going back to nibbling at her nails. “Caoimhe got all wet,” she held her ragdoll up for him to examine. “I don’t think she likes that. Papa always said she hates the cold.”  
Elias’ face softened then as he took the tattered doll from her and gently laid it in front of the fire. For as long as he had known her, Faie had kept the doll close by her side. It was a token her father had stitched together with scraps of fabric from his wife’s wardrobe, though his skills were lacking. At first it had been a beautiful doll - with braided yarn locks and artfully twinkling button eyes. Irving had even made dresses out of his late wife’s clothing. Ever since she was a baby, Faie kept the poppet close to her heart, always with her. She called it Caoimhe, after her long departed mother.   
The entire crew understood the amount of comfort which the doll brought to the child.  
“Why don’t you sing her a song?” Elias urged. “She likes that, doesn’t she?”  
Faie nodded cautiously. “D-do ye think anyone’d mind?”  
He took a short glance about at the eagerly awaiting faces, not noticing the lecherous look his uncle had cast upon the small girl. “I don’t think so.”  
She giggled and reached for a youngish sailor who carried a tin whistle. “Married t’a Mermaid, if y’please Àedàn.”  
The sailor smiled warmly, placing the instrument firmly between his teeth as he launched into the speedy jig. Faie herself stood and began to skip in circles around the room, twirling her still-damp skirt as her bare feet skimmed the floor. Her voice was was like that of a small bell, heavily dialected but very pretty. As she spun, the flame lit her in a warm orange glow, which gave even more premis to her nickname. She appeared to be a small fairy, dancing across the deck as she sang, encouraging the crew to join in on the chorus. 

When the song had finished, she plopped down beside Elias once more, mopping sweat from her brow. “Phew! Gettin’ too old for that kind o’ dancin’.”  
Elias elbowed her ribs gently, a hearty laugh bubbling from his lean chest. “You’re younger than me, Faie!”  
“Mayhap I should slow down a wee bit,” she quipped cheekily and took Caoimhe from her resting place before the fire. “There! All dry now!”  
“Give us another!” Spiridon shouted, nearly toppling his bottle of wine into the dice game beside him. “A lullaby, neráida, put these rowdies to sleep, agapi̱tós.”  
Faie obliged him as she smoothed her doll’s rumpled clothing by the fireside.

 

*******************************************************************EXPLICIT AND VIOLENT CONTENT********************************************************************

 

As the final plaintive strains of the ballad faded, the girl’s head began to droop, unknowing into Spiridon’s waiting chest. His calloused hand traveled from the crown of her head to the dampened folds of her pinafore, stroking the silky skin that he could just barely feel through the thin cloth. He needed more. As he felt her ghosting snores against his neck, he slid his hand past the garment, letting it roam her smooth, coral pink and slightly puckered skin. A heavy groan echoed from within his chest. Gods, he hadn’t touched a woman in years.  
Who knew that his captain’s daughter had such wonderful skin? Yet, he still wanted more. The feeling of his shaft pressing against his breeches told him so. Such a pretty little thing she was. Almost a niece to him...but not. He could feel his inhibitions melt away as he continued to caress her slim body, pinching at her nipples and trailing round her navel. Faie squirmed in her sleep, halting his exploration momentarily, before she snuffled and buried her nose deeper into his chest.   
What a sweet, beautiful invitation is was. “What a lovely little korítsi you are, Clarette...” he pressed his lips to her slim neck, leaving bites and sucked marks against her freckled skin. “Beautiful....all mine now. You wouldn’t tell your Papa would you? No, no, he wouldn’t believe you...” using her hands, he freed himself from his breeches and began to stroke his length against her thigh. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you, agapi̱tós? Naughty...I suppose you’ll have to be punished, won’t you?” as he spoke, he had been removing her pinafore, leaving only her slip between them.   
At the sudden chill, Faie woke, frozen with terror at the feeling of his rough hands learning her body. She shrieked, striking out with a tiny, clenched fist which struck the thick member that Spiridon had been rutting against her. With a howl of agonised rage, the massive man slammed her into the floor, careless of the splinters which drove deep into the exposed flesh of her back.   
“Pórni̱!” he hiked her slip up above her hips, forcing a large hand through her canal. Blood stained the deck as Faie screamed in pain, struggling violently against the huge body which pinned her to the floor boards. Again, his fist broke through, tearing skin and disrupting organs within. Thrice came a gruesome shattering noise as Spiridon leaned too hard against her jutting hips.   
The crew had gone pale in shock, glued to the spot as they watched the big Greek drive his fist in and out of their captain’s beloved daughter. Spiridon spat in the child’s face, his free hand stroking his flaccid shaft urgently.  
“Skýla!” he snarled into her frightened face, teeth clamping down on the skin of her throat and drawing blood. “Little tsoúla! Mine now, my pretty little paichnídi. All mine. “ he took his belt from the floor and gagged her swiftly with it. “Don’t want to worry, Papa, do we?” Faie’s face was a mess of tears and spit, bright red. Her eyes widened when Spiridon leveled his hips with hers and removed his hand. “This is a far better way to take back what is mine...” he inched ever closer. “If your mother had married me, you would be my child. He took her...so I am taking you.”   
With that, he arched his body, impaling Faie’s ruined canal with his hardened shaft. The girl screamed through the gag, her muffled pleas falling on deaf ears.   
Young Elias turned away at the sight, retching into a cooking pot with the others. “Uncle, stop!”  
Spiridon moaned against his victim’s gagged mouth, pressing bruising kisses to her skin. “Gamó̱....oh, Christ.”   
Unable to stand the sight anymore, Elias fled the room, feet flying over the rain-slick deck as he made his way to the captain. His heart sank. Irving Murdoch was gone, as were the ship’s mainmast and tiller. He thought helplessly of his friend trapped below, her slight body losing blood as he stood there doing nothing. She could die.   
Suddenly, all love for his uncle had left him and he set his jaw grimly. He wouldn’t let her. No. With new determination and hate guiding his feet, Elias marched below deck, a hand on the small scaling knife in his pocket. Just as he entered, Spiridon’s thrusts into Faie’s unconscious body became erratic and frantic, and he pulled himself from the wet heat of her to paint her neck and face with his release. “Gamó̱, gamó̱. Pretty little pórni̱. Papa won’t be happy to hear you gave yourself to me so willingly.”

****************************************************END OF EXPLICIT CONTENT**********************************************************************************

Enraged, Elias drove his knife into his uncle’s spine, full to the handle. Blood spurted from the wound as the big Greek’s face contorted into a twisted mask of confused agony and he collapsed on top of Faie’s body.   
The musician, Àedàn hurried to Elias’ side, assisting him in pulling the corpse away in order to bring the little girl to safety. Her usually rosy skin had taken on a deathly pallor, the bruises standing out in stark reminder of her ordeal. “Damn!” he choked out a sob. “Dammit...why we didn’t stop him...déithe, forgive us, I don’t know!” he cradled her in his arms, careful not to jolt her ruined body. “I’m so sorry, Faie, how could I let this happen to you?” tears coursed down his cheeks as he buried his face in the bloodied curls on her head. “Please forgive me...”  
Elias stared at the corpse of his uncle - no - at the carcass of the monster, unwavering. He spat at its back. “You killed the captain, maybe even his child; my only friend. You are no family of mine.”


End file.
